Point of Knives (13 page)

Eslingen held out the paper cone. “Next time you do something like that, you might warn me.”

Rathe hesitated. “I didn’t think it was going to go like that,” he admitted. “If I’d thought—yeah, I would have warned you.”

“She’s dangerous, this Mirremay,” Eslingen said. “And I thought the whole idea was to keep her from building her own little fiefdom in Point of Knives.”

“Yes, she is,” Rathe said. “And, yes, it was.”

“It doesn’t seem to have worked out all that well.”

“Not the way the Surintendant planned, no.” Rathe paused. “At least, probably not, anyway. He’s a—complicated man.”

“I don’t like ‘complicated,’” Eslingen said.

“Then you’re in the wrong business,” Rathe said.

For a moment, it hung in the balance, and then Eslingen’s mouth twitched upward. “I’m a simple soldier, Adjunct Point—”

“You’re about as simple as the epicycles of Arjent,” Rathe said, and traced the looping corkscrew pattern in the air for emphasis.

Eslingen swept him a bow, graceful in spite of the cone still in one hand. “Why, that’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said about me.” He paused. “I meant it, you know.”

“I know.” Rathe said. “And next time, I will warn you. If I can.”

Eslingen lifted an eyebrow. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Yes.” Rathe met his eyes squarely. “It’s all I can promise, Philip.”

There was a moment of stillness, the business of the square moving around them, as distant as if they stood encased in glass. Eslingen shrugged at last. “So. I’ll take what I can get.”

Rathe nodded, not knowing what to say. He only hoped that he hadn’t spoiled everything.

Eslingen settled himself by the tavern’s fire and unfolded the broadsheets he’d picked up on his way through Temple Fair. By mutual if unspoken agreement, he and Rathe were both avoiding places where they were known individually, which left them mostly northriver places like this one. It was pleasant enough, occupied in the early evening primarily by clerks from the counting houses and factors’ offices along the Mercandry. The prices were correspondingly higher, but it was worth it for the anonymity. No one here had cause to remember either Caiazzo’s knife or the Adjunct Point at Point of Hopes.

He bespoke two plates of the night’s ordinary, telling the waiter not to serve until his guest arrived, and turned his attention to the broadsheets. He’d bought a weekly almanac as well as a more personal sheet, and scanned it quickly, noting the positions of the major planets. The sun was in the Charioteer, and solidly aspected; the astrologer predicted quiet days and soft weather, plenty of time for the harvest and the last short-range trading ventures before winter closed the roads. His solar horoscope was equally benign, though he noted with a wry grin that the moon was in the Sea-bull, house of passion and illicit relationships. It would be nice if this affair lasted a bit longer than the moon’s transit of the sign, but somehow he doubted it.

He folded the papers and tucked them into the cuff of his coat as he saw Rathe approach. The pointsman had shed his jerkin and truncheon, looked like any other southriver laborer in his rumpled coat and worn breeches. He looked a bit out of place, Eslingen thought, but no worse than the carter at the table in the corner: a man meeting friends of higher station, that was all.

“Any news?” he asked, as Rathe pulled out his chair.

“Some.” Rathe reached for the wine that stood ready and poured himself a glass. “Biatris—the apprentice I had watching van Duiren’s counting house—says it’s in use, and that Delon is definitely the same person as van Duiren. She comes mostly in the late afternoon or evening, and rarely stays long. She’s usually gone by sunset and always before second sunrise. Biatris hasn’t seen her meeting with anyone, but she thinks van Duiren’s been expecting someone the last day or so.”

Eslingen frowned. He was starting to recognize Rathe’s moods, would have expected him to be more pleased than this. “But?”

“Monteia’s ordered Biatris off the job,” Rathe said. “And I’ve been warned off as well. It seems the counting house is in Point of Knives.”

Eslingen lifted an eyebrow. “I thought the crossroad—Lanyard Road?—was the boundary.”

“It and Cockerel Row, yes. And so it is, in general practice,” Rathe answered. “But the official writ runs one street further west, and Mirremay is claiming it.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Rathe gave a sour smile. “I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and say she’s angling for the reward, but—it’s inconvenient.”

“Very.” Eslingen topped up their glasses.

“I do have an idea,” Rathe said, after a moment.

Eslingen gave him a wary look. He was beginning to suspect that not all of Rathe’s ideas were as reasonable as they sounded on first hearing. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Rathe said again. “Biatris says the woman across the street rents rooms on her second floor. If we were quick and reasonably discreet, we could take one of those rooms, and the odds are fairly good that Mirremay’s pets won’t spot us.”

Eslingen turned the idea over carefully in his mind, but couldn’t see anything immediately wrong with it. “All right, that could work.”

“We’ll go tomorrow early,” Rathe said. “My guess is van Duiren won’t be active then, and Mirremay’s people will slink home to report.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Eslingen said.

They made their way through the side streets, avoiding Lanyard Road and the cross street until Rathe scouted ahead and reported no sign of Mirremay’s people. The counting house was closed, its windows shuttered, but the house opposite was open, and a woman sat in the sun outside the main door, shelling peas into a bowl. Eslingen rested his hand on Rathe’s shoulder.

“Let me. If any of Mirremay’s people are still watching, I’m Caiazzo’s man. She can take it up with him.”

Rathe hesitated, then nodded. “Rent a front room. If it’s clear, open the shutters. I’ll join you then.”

“Right.” Eslingen handed him the basket he had been carrying—it held a jug of tea and a bottle of wine, bread and a pie for the long watch—and started briskly up the street.

The woman looked up at his approach, and Eslingen doffed his hat. “Good morning, dame.”

“Morning—soldier?”

Eslingen bowed. “Just so. And on leave, and wondering if you still rented rooms. A friend of mine said you might.”

“I do,” she said.

“It was a particular room I wanted,” Eslingen said. “One that overlooks the street.”

She gave him a measuring look—summing up, Eslingen thought, just how much damage he and his lover were likely to do to the room, whether points would be called, and whether his money was good, and then shrugged one shoulder.

“There’s a front room available. But the furniture’s extra.”

“I don’t need much,” Eslingen answered, with perfect truth. “And I don’t know how long I’ll stay.”

She nodded. Her hands never slowed, stripping the peas from their pods. “A seilling a day, and another for a bed and mattress.”

“Not per day,” Eslingen said.

She shook her head grudgingly. “For a week, if you stay so long.”

“Throw in a couple of stools, and it’s done.” Eslingen gave her his most winning smile.

She lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. “Agreed. Payment in advance, soldier.”

Eslingen fished in his purse, came up with the coins. “I’ll be back within the hour, dame.”

They spent the time at a teahouse, sadly not in the well-tended garden, but in the smoky main room, where Rathe could, with effort, peer out the shutters and catch a glimpse of van Duiren’s counting house. Eslingen lifted an eyebrow, and Rathe shrugged.

“I can’t afford to get in bad with Monteia just at the moment. And Monteia can’t afford to annoy Mirremay.”

“Awkward,” Eslingen agreed.

“And if I were Mirremay, I’d want my people back watching by now.”

“They’ve been there all night,” Eslingen said, in what he hoped were soothing tones. “Surely they need some sleep.”

“Damn it.” Rathe let the shutter close. “Apparently not. I just saw Chaudet wandering up the street.”

“Damn,” Eslingen said. “All right. I’ll take the room and you can come in the back door.”

“You’re not exactly unrecognizable,” Rathe said.

“It’s a different coat,” Eslingen said. He’d decided he didn’t want to risk his best clothes on this particular assignment. “And I’ll let my hair down.” He suited the action to the words, taking off his hat and loosening his hair from its tie.

Rathe lifted his eyebrows. “You look—dissipated.”

“Why, thank you, Adjunct Point.” Eslingen grinned. “Perhaps we could arrange to make it less of a pretense?”

“We’ve a watch to keep,” Rathe answered, not without regret, and the nearest tower clock struck the quarter hour.

“The room should be ready,” Eslingen said, and picked up the basket, tucking it under one arm. A different coat, hair loose and untidy, a common-looking basket in his hands…. “Well?” he asked, and Rathe nodded.

“You’ll do. Open the shutter when you’re settled and I’ll come in by the garden door.”

Eslingen saw no sign of Mirremay’s people as he made his way up the street, felt none of the prickle at the back of the neck that meant someone was paying too close attention. The landlady was within, but her maidservant handed him the key and promised to let his lover in the kitchen door so that his mistress wouldn’t know how he was spending his day off. The room itself was much as he’d expected, the sort of room he’d commandeered a hundred times on campaign, bare and faintly dusty, with a heavy bedstead in one corner piled with what proved at the touch to be a straw mattress. Fairly fresh straw, at least, he thought, and pulled back the shutter for the signal.

He left the basket in a shaded corner, and dragged one stool to the side of the window, so that he could see the street and the counting house without being seen. A few minutes later, Rathe arrived, slipping the maidservant a coin and bolting the door behind him.

“What in Astree’s name did you tell them?”

“That you were houseman to an elderly merchant resident who was enamored of your manly charms,” Eslingen answered promptly. “And desperately jealous. But I saw you from afar, and managed to seduce you away for these few days of my leave, but we don’t dare be seen for fear you’d lose your place.”

“Idiot.” Rathe shook his head. “That wasn’t even a good play.”

“I got it out of a broadsheet,” Eslingen answered. He shifted so that he could lean against the wall and still keep an eye on the street. “What now?”

“This is the boring part,” Rathe answered, and dragged the other stool to the opposite side of the window. “We wait.”

“Ah.” Eslingen scanned the street, empty except for a lop-eared dog nosing at a puddle beside the wall opposite. Even as he watched, the dog lifted its head and trotted off. Eslingen sighed. “For how long?”

Rathe grinned. “Until something happens. Or until we’re sure nothing’s going to happen.”

“Lovely.” Eslingen rested his head against the wall. “We could play cards—”

Rathe shook his head. “I don’t carry a deck.”

“Dice?”

Rathe shook his head again. “Besides, we don’t want to be distracted.”

“Which rules out my next suggestion,” Eslingen said, with a grin.

“If you can keep watch under those circumstances, I’ll be offended,” Rathe answered.

“All right, probably not,” Eslingen conceded. “Still, it would make the time pass.”

“No,” Rathe said.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Rathe paused. “How in Tyrseis’s name did you end up a soldier?”

“I ran off to be a horseboy in a mercenary regiment when I was thirteen,” Eslingen answered promptly. “It was better than being a horseboy in an inn for the rest of my life. At least there was a chance of promotion. How’d you end up a pointsman?”

Rathe shrugged. “We lived near the station at Point of Hearts when I was a boy. I began as a runner, just looking to make a few demmings, and discovered I was good at the work. And I liked it. One of the local advocates paid my ’prentice-fee, and—that was that.”

It was on the tip of Eslingen’s tongue to say something about Rathe’s stars, but he swallowed the words. Rathe was right not to tell him, and it was his right to keep the secret, and that was the end of it. “And evidently the chance of promotion is just as good as in the regiment,” he said instead, and Rathe shrugged.

“Good enough. Though I got this post early, I’m likely to stay an adjunct point for quite a while.”

They lapsed into silence. Eslingen watched the shadows turn and lengthen, stretching across the dusty street. Mirremay’s people paid the neighborhood another visit, pacing the length of the street, but didn’t stay, and by the time the clock struck four, they’d disappeared again. After a while, Rathe shared out some of the bread and tea. Eslingen took his share, more to have something to do than because he was hungry, and then, as the sun settled behind the chimney pots, he cut them both wedges from the pie. It was excellent, and Eslingen was debating a second slice when he saw Rathe straighten.